Adam can make himself appear so pitiful
that I just want to give him a hug.
Maybe that’s why every time
we depart each others’ company
I feel the need to call out,
Adam, don’t kill yourself tonight.
He sits in the break room,
his skinny, pale body curled in the LazyBoy,
and stares off into space with his
melancholy eyes and black-stubbled face.
And he laments to anyone who’s listening,
My dog is my only friend.
He tells me that one day
he’s going to hang himself in the projection booth after work.
I told him he should do it with Saw IV,
but he disagreed; If I did it with Happy Feet
it would have more of an impact.
He tells me about how he wants to write poems,
using a pen name, about suicide and killing bunnies,
and plaster them all over town.
I imagine he’ll write them after his nightly ritual
of masturbate, weep, and repeat.
I told him that I’m going to write a poem about daisies,
because daisies make everybody happy, just for him.
He looked me matter-of-factly in the eye
and said that he will slit his wrists and bleed
all over my uplifting poem.
One day the tornado sirens went off,
and I finally saw Adam smile!
He wanted to climb the stairs to the roof,
strap himself up there with some chains;
and when the tornado got close enough,
yell and scream and ejaculate
into all of its magnificent glory.